The Manor of the Winds- such a grand name for your mistress's offices on the Munitorum supply and transit station "Bevrian." Your journey has been difficult, riding in the cramped corners of packed military transports and requisitioned civilian liners. It seems that every soul moves with a single purpose; for here all actions are controlled by military necessity. Bevrian is one of a half-dozen major staging points, part of the rear area for the vast Front where Marshal Braganca's armies hold steady against the seemingly endless greenskin hordes.
And so even a woman of Inquisitor Falkenberg's status is relegated to the most simple of accommodations: The so-called "Manor" comprises of a few offices and a large cargo and shipping bay, from which her vital investigations are commanded. It is to that cargo bay that you are ushered by robed servitors. On Bevrian, not a cubic inch of space or moment of time is wasted, and here it is no different. Inquisitor Gudrun Falkenberg is surrounded by frenetic motion as she directs loading operations. A trio of clattering scribe-servitors surround her, and hardly a moment passes when she is not signing some missive or entering figures. At your approach, she drops the datapad she is holding- it is caught and spirited away by some sycophant- she smiles brightly. Tall, handsome, and maternal, she is resplendent in a high-necked dress and pearls. Her hair is expensively coiffed to blend with the cortical implants jutting from her skull, and half her face has been replaced with a painted, porcelain augmetic, rendering her matronly smile somewhat sinister.

"Welcome to Subsector Balchia, my trusted servants. I will get straight to the point, for your vessel leaves in minutes and time is ever of the essence.

There has been a murder, a murder of no small personal importance to me. I have told you in the past about Fornos; the world where I hunted the Bloody Memory cult to extinction. Fornos is different now, stable and loyal, a vital link in the supply chain to the front. There has been an incident I find troubling. Recently, the old Arbites Judge of the world died of old age. Hardly an incident of importance, as I knew the man and he was a wastrel and a poltroon, and the world is better for seeing him gone. His replacement was another matter: Justice Manderley, a respected and feared keeper of the peace. I say â€œWas,â€

_________________"Winter is Coming"

Last edited by Thirdfain on Fri Aug 13, 2010 1:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Lug glanced at the mojo that The Lady held warily, not trusting himself with such things. Then again, he did not particularly trust anyone else with something like that either. Buggy was a witch, and a crazy one at that, so he didn't trust her twice over. Rust was half man and half something Lug didn't trust, so he was out too. Needle was a sensible sort who knew how to behave like a warrior who nonetheless was also something of a snake. Screw was... well Screw was a screw, so Lug always had his hackles up around him, although he supposed that Screw could be trusted to guard things. Finally there was Preach, who while a holy man was also the sort of smug, superior fellow who would last perhaps thirty seconds back home. He also talked a lot, something Lug disapproved of on principle. Only someone like The Lady had enough of the Emperor's Mojo to keep daemons from hearing.

Because they were always listening.

Looking over the group and knowing that they would ignore him anyway because they never listened to his warnings, Lug said softly, "You know I keep my mouth shut."

Jarsus's eyes kept sliding to the bolt pistol. It was a pretty piece, one a man like him could mostly hope to only admire from afar and here it was all nice and close up. He had to force himself to follow the conversation.

He smiled. "Well hells ma'am, everyone knows that won't be me. I'm happy to do the job, but everyone knows I'm not the choice to soothe the ruffled feathers of mighty folk."

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

Nikostratos finished entering the final note into his ornate dataslate and looked up at the Inquisitor.

"My Lady, I suppose, then, that the task of bringing gifts falls to me as always." He bowed slightly.

Then, after a pause, he continued.

"I have a concern, though. The Emperor moves in mysterious ways, and Arbitrators often have enemies in the strangest places. If, Emperor forbid, we are to find that our mission of friendship and our mission to find the murderer are....incompatible...What is to be our course of action then?"

Inquisitor Falkenberg's face contorted slightly. Those to whom social graces came easily recognized the motion; before her incident she had been given to arching her left eyebrow. Somewhere under her augmetic, some scraps of ruined flesh must have been attempting the old expression.

"If the eye offends, pluck it out. There can be no defense for traitors, and there are few acts of treason as dire as the murder of an appointed justice of the Emperor's divine Peace. But I shan't imagine you will face such difficulties- My former friends and cohorts were the most stalwart enemies of corruption I have ever known. They have hunted traitors from the highest to the lowest levels of society, they have taken the ruins of a battered world and built one of the great bastions of the subsector. I have seen them lead unarmed mobs against daemons, and emerge victorious. No one is beyond reproach, however. Do as you see fit.

But the question remains, which among you shall bear my sigil, the proxy of my authority? Full half of you have yet to speak."

Nikostratos bowed deeply. "I have very little doubt that you are correct, My Lady. But that question was the only one we could not discover the answer to on our own, once we leave this hall."

"As for the sigil, I believe that it should go to the one with most need of it. Since only the Emperor knows what the future shall bring, I propose that we would thus take it as a group, and use it as need arises."

Novus, if he could be any less amused, did not want to spend time on a purely human affair. It was not beneath his abilities as it merely had nothing to do with him. Still, his superior commands and if he is to travel with two very rare weapons then he will tend his time to care for them and for the Omnissiah.

"It is not my place to bear such a seal when others here are more suitable," announced in his mechanical voice. Novus continued on, "But, I shall take unto me the bolt pistol and bless and care for it as well as the sword during the journey. Though I recommend someone else takes it as a precaution."

It is better to listen and act, then to speak. Arbitrators were taught the value of a listening silence, the better to catch the wicked. Trask was not an especially bright or wise man and knew it, so he prefer to consider before acting, to ensure the Emperor received the best possible service he could give.

"I agree with Novus and Nikostratos, my lady." He said.

_________________"it takes two sides to end a war but only one to start one. And those who do not have swords may still die upon them." Tolken

Last edited by frigidmagi on Thu Aug 12, 2010 6:24 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Camillia looked almost half-asleep as her Inquisitor gave them the abbreviated briefing. Her daze was a combination of not enough rest recently, in addition to a persistent mental weight on her mind ever since being dragged off her relatively comfortable previous accomodations and thrown onto this ship. She suspected it was simply the background noise of the ship and its crew, so there was no way of avoiding it.

When the precious gifts were revealed, and the challenge or test presented, Camillia hesitated. As did many of her colleages, apparently. In material and emotional value, these gifts were probably worth more than each of them individually, certainly, perhaps more than the entire team. At least, Camillia supposed that it was a safe assumption to make. her mind played the old association game, and immediately she judged which of the gifts matched most closely to the team members she was with, so far as she knew them. The sword to the nobleman was obvious. The gun to the pistol slinger, though to the arbitrator was suitable as well. And the book, of course, fit herself the best, with the nobleman far in second. The ring though... that one defied easy classifications.

As the others said their piece, and silence filled the void, Camillia caught the Inquisitor's eye and said "I can... safeguard the book. May I read it? As for the ring... I believe either Jarsus or Trask would be least likely to succumb to a pickpocket."

Last edited by Hawkwings on Thu Aug 12, 2010 11:46 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Inquisitor Falkenberg stands silently for a moment; as if in thought. When she speaks, it is quietly- you are all forced to lean in slightly to hear her words.

"Authority and responsibility I hold in my hand. What is a responsibility shared? Everyone's responsibility is no one's. Any one of you may one day wear the Rosette and command the resources of the Holy Inquisition. If that honor falls to you, it's responsibility will be yours to bear alone. Of all of you, only my dear barbarian has shown the fortitude of will to accept this burden. It shall be his."

At this, she leans close to the tattooed warrior. She whispers a few words, subvocally, into his ear, as she clasps her ring- the sigil of her authority, a key for opening all doors- into his calloused hands.

"As for the gifts; you may bear them as you will. I only insist that they arrive in the hands of their beneficiaries in the condition they are in now- they will be unused, unfired, unread. Now go! your ship awaits. The tides are right, and all divinations suggest a swift journey to Fornos. You will have full access to my files on the world, the sector, and it's history- use your time in transit well. Trouble me no more, make haste."

And with that, her attention shifts from you instantly. Without a glance over her shoulder, she is once more enthralled by her constant duties. An insistent servitor beckons, directing you towards a waiting shuttle. Such orders brook no complaints, and it is clear she will hear no more words on the matter.

You are ushered into yet another cramped transport. After a few minutes of unpleasant vibrations, the hatch opens- you are aboard the Saint Casimir, recognizable immediately as one of the mass-produced Munitorum bulk lifters you've had to endure so many times before. Strangely, the bay in which you've landed seems to have been subdivided. Through thin metal walls you can hear the noise of a major loading operation, but you've been segregated from the main bulk of the ship, along with a handful of other passengers. A scarred subaltern in the charcoal grey of the Balchian Imperial Guard regiments guides you to your quarters. He is a talkative fellow, his voice thick with an accent none of you have heard before.

"Welcome, Welcome to the Saint Casimir, I mean no offense lords and ladies but I must insist that you remain within the passenger's quarters. This is a military vessel, and I'm afraid all decks are off limits. Any requests you might have, bring to me and I'll see they're carried out. My apologies, lords and ladies, my apologies. Forecasts show the trip won't be more than a few days at the longest in any case, so you shouldn't get too bored, I imagine! Oh, and one last thing- You, the insurers, you've been granted special permission to access parts of the autolibrary. You must have good friends indeed for such privileges!"

-----------------------------
(ooc: A quick note; all of you speak Lexos, a secret language spoken by members of Lady Falkenberg's entourage- this may come in useful if you need to communicate without being understood.)

Lug had to resist the urge to gulp profoundly. He had not expected this. Instead he managed to put on his best solemn face while he carefully took the ring and hid it away in the pockets of his clothing, closest to his strongest tattoos. Mojo like this was powerful indeed, and needed to be well guarded and hidden. He considered saying something before he realized that would betray his promise so he merely bowed to The Lady to show that he accepted the burden of this responsibility.

When he straightened up he also shot a glare at Buggy. He would have to find her later and loom above her, perhaps even provide a few words of reminder not to touch The Lady's things. The power of words were not for creatures such as she to play around with, especially not ones from The Lady's collection.

Once dismissed, Lug endured the trip on the iron bird up to the star canoe, something he did not particularly enjoy despite having long ago grown used to the experience. Patiently he follows the subaltern to the assigned quarters, assessing the man quietly. On the one hand he is rather chatty, but on the other hand he has the scars of a warrior so he is clearly not all bad.

Upon hearing that they will be given access to parts of the autolibrary, Lug realizes that while that should hopefully distract Buggy from The Lady's things, he will also have to keep watch over her lest she stumble upon knowledge not meant for witches and summon a coiterie of daemons upon them all. He inwardly sighed. He hated libraries.

Finding his quarters, he paused to lean next to the door, knowing that now that they had some time to pause and think someone would come up to him about the ring. Probably Preach at the very least.

"A vial of machine oil would prove most useful," Novus replied indicating the bolter pistol he was carrying. One can never have too much he thought to himself and he may not come across some for awhile on this investigation.

Trask moved onto the ship quietly. He disagreed with his lady, but it didn't matter, her word was law. As for responsibility, he would never wear the Rosetta of the Inquisition. For he already had a Duty and a Responsibility as ponderous and needful as that of the Inquisition. That of the Law. He was the Law and could be nothing else.

He listened to the major and nodded. Exercise and sleep would have to do.

Quote:

Jarsus couldn't read so a library wasn't exactly appealing. "All decks off limits?" he asked. "Is there any chance a body could find a friendly game of dice?"

"I'll take a round... If you'll allow me to check the dice first?" He said.

_________________"it takes two sides to end a war but only one to start one. And those who do not have swords may still die upon them." Tolken

Last edited by frigidmagi on Fri Aug 13, 2010 5:52 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Once the small crowd of civilians has dispersed somewhat to their respective bunks and accommodations, the subaltern saunters over to the lanky Metallican.

"Say, friend, our stakes aren't high, but over in the inner guardsroom we throw the dice a little between shifts. Nothing too fancy, and we play Three Thrones exclusively, no outlandish stuff--- well, if you know Three Thrones, or want to learn a little something new and try your luck, come on by during Secondshift." He flashes a big grin, grey eyes twinkling merrily.

Jarsus smiled at Trask. Slinging iron in Gunmetal City wasn't necessarily speaking illegal, not with the dueling laws, bounties, feuds, and so forth but it was a job that would often take you to the worst places even if you were in accord with the law. It was something he had in common with the enforcer. Both had seen the sewer up close and personal. "Well how in Infernas am I supposed to fleece you if you check the bloody dice?" he responded with mock outrage.

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

"With skill and cleverness I would suggest..." Trask made a show of rubbing his chin and considering.

"You may instead have to pray for blind luck and the Emperor's favor though." He finished with a quick grin. Trask actually did have a abiding respect for the gunslinger, he was a skilled individual at his trade and not a fool. Even more importantly he served the Emperor. Something his Arbitrator training did not lead him to expect. Damn if he would ever tell Jarsus though. He turned to the Subaltern.

"We may join you and I thank you for the invitation." He said.

_________________"it takes two sides to end a war but only one to start one. And those who do not have swords may still die upon them." Tolken

Camillia took a brief look around their assigned quarters, and decided that she wanted to spend as little time there as possible. The autolibrary sounded interesting, if nothing else, and she headed there as soon as she had dropped off a few of her meager possessions on her bed.

Secondshift was a "night" shift on the passenger deck. The lights ran at half strength, when they ran at all. The handful of civilian passengers, barely sated by their short dinner of corpse starch and military rations, tried to find what sleep they could. The recycled air was redolent with the scents of ship-life: sweat, excrement, cleaning fluid, engine oil, lho-smoke, and all the other emanations of a hundred thousand bodies packed in close quarters on a cheap, cramped vessel designed without comfort in mind.

The inner guardroom was only half of the rather civil but unbreakable gate which stood between the passengers and the majority of the vessel. In a pool of dim light, a half-dozen guardsmen and naval ratings sat on upended drums and cargo crates, smoking and chatting. Ship-cant accents clashed with the tongue which you have come to realize is that of Fornos; bursts of camaraderie and laughter forced by those who realize how little air and steel stands between their light and the endless Empyrean.

"The game, gentlefolk, is Three Thrones. We have three dice, and like the Emperor Himself, they can be merciful- or they can be cruel. Each player rolls 'till they've got themselves a hand. That's two doubles- any doubles- and the remaining dice is their score. See? two fours and a three. The two fours are False Thrones, we ignore them; my score's a three. Then you'd roll- six, two, and one, huh? No score, roll those again- aha! Two ones and a six. You've beat me soundly, eh! Score of six beats score of three. There's two wild rolls. A one, two, and a three makes for a Usurper. You roll a Usurper, you're out- there's nothing worse than a Usurper. Three sixes are a Seated Emperor. You land three sixes, and you win automatically, take the whole pot. Other triples don't count for jack nor shit so don't get too excited."

"Ante starts at 10 creds. Or anything else you care to bet that we agree on; barter's big shipside as anyone knows."

-------------

-ooc- If you want to check the library, merely tell me what you're looking up, and I'll post the files you find in the thread.

Jarsus wasn't at the game. The question had been asked not because he wanted to gamble, but because he wanted to know the answer. They could mingle and through that have access to the rest of the ship if necessary.

Part of his absence was because he was good at shooting guns, not dice. The other part was that he didn't have enough money to gamble. The Inquisitor might have been offering signet rings, but Jarsus wanted cold hard Thrones and they hadn't been flowing. The trophies on his coat were all the symbolic authority he needed and as for responsibility, well a symbol was just a symbol. His trophies were a symbol, but in the end the business was done with the gun.

So instead of gambling he rummaged around for alcohol and delicacies to eat and small valuable to pocket. And a good set of strangling wire. It was almost heresy, but sometimes a man needed to die quiet without leaving a blood spot.

_________________It's not that I'm unforgiving, it's that most of the people who wrong me are unrepentant assholes.

After a few minutes of watching everyone go about their business and no one coming up to talk to him, Lug nodded with satisfaction. While he did not feel he was worthy to bear the ring, The Lady's word was involiate and it seemed that everyone else kept to that tenet. It was good that he could at least marginally trust the team on that point.

Going into his room, he put his few meagre possessions away and then took out his long las. Checking over it to make sure that it had not in any way been damaged, he delicately set it on his bed and then went on to his laspistol. He did not understand or even truly trust most technology more advanced that those that required muscle power to operate, but he did grok weaponry in his own way. They were kindred spirits, showing constant faith in battle if you showed them the same, and like warriors they needed care and attention outside battle lest they wear out and break. Lug supposed he got on best with Rust and Needle when all of them were cleaning guns, for Needle was even more attentive than Lug when it came to weaponry and Lug supposed that if Preach could attend to the souls of people then someone had to be the priest for the guns, even if that resulted in a freaky half-man, half-thing.

Once he was done with the cleaning, Lug wandered over to the autolibrary to glare at Buggy and remind her that he was keeping an eye on her before he went to one of the crew members and asked, "Is there a firing range somewhere around here?"

Camilla was lead to the autolibrarium by two guardsmen. As with most of the Fornosans she had met so far, they were talkative, pleasant sorts- but they kept her under close guard every step of the way, and all she saw were more dark and quiet corridors. The library was not far from the passenger deck; and she was able to accomplish little exploration.

They waited outside the chamber itself; however. Camilla had rarely seen an autolibrary of such primitive make. The viewing chamber was cramped and utilitarian, but one whole wall was taken up by a massive piece of intricate brass machinery. She could not tell for sure, but she suspected the device extended far above and belowdecks. A keyboard of inlaid wood jutted from the brass wall. A single, black screen of carved glass waited darkly. As soon as she set foot in the chamber, there was a distant sound of machines in operation. The smell of incense seemed to fill the air, and vibrations surrounded her. A single green cursor sprang into being, and danced rapidly across the screen.

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